


Hanging With Mr. Cooper

by fujiidom



Category: Big Bang Theory
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Glee - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-13
Updated: 2009-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-28 11:50:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fujiidom/pseuds/fujiidom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in an alternate reality where a young Sheldon didn't get a chance to escape, grew weary and jaded with his doomed lot in life, and eventually took a teaching job because he's still just as smart, but lacks the grades (he'd stopped trying/caring by late highschool) and qualifications (<i>he's only got a bachelor's degree! from community college!</i>) to do anything else, as he'd prefer.</p><p>Sort of similar to a gender-swapped <i>Glee</i> AU, but before their shit got way whack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hanging With Mr. Cooper

**Author's Note:**

> Watch ApprenticeA's [Star Wars Tribute Medley](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lk5_OSsawz4) to understand the references to it, throughout. Thanks to [mrsvc](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsvc) for betaing.

\---

  
_Eight across, a seven letter word: gentle dehiscence._   


\---

Sheldon fills in the row of tiny boxes, carefully. There are only three clues left unanswered when the more obnoxious of the two morning receptionists opens the door and enters the break room.

He sighs, gets up, and moves to open the refrigerator, leaving his puzzle unfinished. That's the third time this week he's been interrupted before completion. He's first in the room for lunch and completes a puzzle just before others arrive to steal away his privacy. He used to complete them before interruptions, at least.

Four minutes and five seconds? On a Monday puzzle? He's slipping.

Barb – he's nearly positive that's her name, but can't be sure since he avoids prolonged conversations often enough to have never used it aloud – detaches the coffee pot and fills it with water.

She sets it back on the burner noisily as he's taking his lunch from the refrigerator. It's Monday, after all, and he can't possibly trust what the school cafeteria deems fit to call Sloppy Joes. For too many reasons than he'd care to think very long about.

He's almost decided that he's mistaken this receptionist as the deplorably cheery one when she's actually the appreciatively quieter of the pair, when she turns around to face him with big smile and whistles as she leaves the coffee to warm up.

Rolling his neck in an effort to ignore the horrifying and fast approaching source of saliva and bacteria, he opts to feign interest in his abandoned puzzle before opening his paper bag. It wouldn't do to expose his lunch to whatever germs and pestilence the ignorant heifer might be pushing into the area's air circulation.

She sits at another table, but is obviously staring at him. They're the only two people in the room and it calls for conversation, no matter how much he hates the thought.

"They announced the Nobel Prize winners, this weekend, you know," she says casually.

His neck stiffens. "As you can see, I read the paper." He tilts his head toward the folded remains of the morning's New York Times, to the left of his bagged meal.

She ignores his attempt at dismissing the conversation. "They were making such a big deal of it on the radio, on the drive in. 'He doesn't deserve it,' 'it's premature,' things like that. Doesn't make too much sense, to me. Arguing over it, that is; he's already won the darn thing."

"Yes."

"Don't know why they care, really, seeing as how they're all just a bunch of radio hosts." She shakes her head. "And the people! The people that were calling in, one way or the other, claiming they know what's best? Waste of breath, if you ask me."

"I don't think I did," Sheldon mutters.

"A whole lot of good it does, squabbling with a bunch of strangers about Nobel prizes! Like them or anyone they know would even be qualified! Like anyone in this town's going to wake up tomorrow, a Nobel Prize winner! Such nonsense!"

Sheldon nearly groans, crossing his left arm over his stomach and putting a hand to his brow. This woman was relentless and the coffee was still only a minute and a half into boiling.

He's still covering his face with his hand, when the door opens and closes softly, so he startles at the unexpected sound of a chair at his table screeching backward.

"Hi, there. You must be Mr. Cooper." She beams at him.

Today is the day from hell, he decides. "I don't think I must be anyone, but yes that is my name."

"Hi." She sticks a hand out between them and he stares at it, suspicious.

At least the receptionist, who may or may not be named Barb, has quieted. He cautiously greets her back and shakes her hand. "Is there something in particular that I can help you with, or do you just enjoy spontaneous and awkward introductions?"

"Um, we've sort of met before. Or I thought we have. I'm Penny. I've worked here for well over two years, now..."

"I don't recall..." Sheldon shifts, crossing his right leg to lean atop the opposite knee. His lunch is getting warm and the turkey never tastes as good, when warm.

"Well, I guess I'm not all that surprised. Humanities and sciences don't exactly mix."

He nods. She had a point. "So, this is business-related, or no? I don't think you've answered my original question."

"Well, I was just explaining that this isn't our first meeting. Since I'm sure I've sat behind you at a few staff meetings, but that's not the point-"

"Which I hope you'll be arriving at any minute, now?"

She frowns, tilting her head impatiently. "As I was saying, humanities and sciences don't normally mix. I know that. Some of my students, however, are insisting that I ask you about a problem we've arrived at. There seems to be no one else to turn to."

Sheldon sits a bit straighter. The commentary on Nobel Prize qualifications earlier making him eager to prove himself, contrary to his normally lackluster interest in a field which he seems doomed to live on the outskirts of success within.

"...You're a nerd, right?" She pops an eyebrow and waits for him to respond. After a brief moment of staring, he clears his throat and collects his things, attempting to leave. She pulls on his arm, protesting his shock and repulsion at her touch, getting him to sit back down. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Poor choice of words."

He squints, annoyed with her continued lack of tact.

"What I meant is that a couple of my students heard you make a joke about Klingers the other day and they told me to go to you with this, so is that true? Do you know about that kind of …stuff?"

He sighs and can't help but correct her. "Klingons, its Klingons."

She reaches across to brace his arm, again ignoring his flinching attempt to pull it from her grasp. He immediately regrets his decision to answer, as she squeals. "Oh, thank GOD! Okay. Well, I teach English normally. Writing and that kind of stuff, right?" He nods, disinterestedly. "Well, last year, Dr. Gabelhouser found out that I did local theater when I was younger..."

Sheldon cringes, afraid of where this conversation is going. She laughs at his expression, shaking her head at whatever he was getting at.

"No, it's not - I think it came up when we were talking about my students reading Anne Frank, at the Christmas Party. Not a big deal," she offers, trying to keep him from looking more wary.

It doesn't work. He looks more concerned.

"I know, I know. Talking about what it's like being Anne Frank at Christmas isn't really that appropriate –," she concedes, with a wide smile.

"I was actually more troubled at the casting choice. Someone chose you to play Anne Frank? Was there a lack of any other options?"

Her expression chills, all traces of a smile disappear. "I'm an excellent actress."

He tilts his head to the right, considering her words. "I'd hope so."

Penny huffs a bit, but steers the conversation back to where she'd began. For the kids, she tells herself. "Well, anyway. Gablehouser knew that I was an actress and put me in charge of the school drama department. I said yes because, hey, extra cash. Now, though, it's pretty much running itself and I'm more of a figurehead or events planner of sorts. So I've also started to lend some of my spare-time to sponsoring the glee club."

His eyes narrow, once more. "We have a glee club?"

"We do. There are only three kids, though. It's more of a small group of friends that happen to enjoy a cappella, really. So I offered to help them out if they had any questions. They normally just do those videos they show before the school announcements come on TV in the morning."

Sheldon rolls his eyes. He knows precisely who she's referring to, now. "I really don't see what this has to do with me. Surely any questions they have should remain directed at you, the person who volunteered for such a position."

"Well, this is kind of goes over my head. They want to do something in cooperation with the drama department, which I told them I'd try and arrange, since I'm in charge of both and those kids could really use more friends," she explains. "And at first the drama kids didn't want anything to do with it, I showed them the video and then they got all excited and now I'm stuck trying to find costumes for stuff I have no idea about."

"Video? If they've already made a video, what does the drama department need costumes for?" Sheldon frowns.

"Well, that's just it. It's not their video, it's some YouTube thing. They showed me and …it's, well, I admit it's kind of cool. It's this, I don't know, maybe Klingon-related a cappella quartet by the same guy. Dedicated to some musician that wrote the score for one of the movies? Star Wars, I think. They showed me, I can write down the link for you, if –," she trails off at his expression. He holds up a hand to spare further explanation.

"I know what they're referring to. It's about Star Wars. Star Wars has nothing to do with Klingons and the video is dedicated to John Williams. The same John Williams who is the 'musician' and composer behind the score to Star Wars, Indiana Jones, E.T., Jurassic Park, and too many other masterful works of science fiction and various other genres of film to name."

"Oh. Okay." She smiles, a bit unsure at his strong but terse reaction. She leans forward, hopeful. "Does that mean you'll do it?"

"Do what?" He tries to keep his voice from sounding so high, but his interest is peaked despite himself. He clears his throat and fiddles with the ballpoint that had been attached to the edge of his folded-over crossword.

"Help me? Please?" She cringes, realizing how pathetic that sounds, but she's desperate. "I have to get costumes for over fifteen kids. They're planning on reenacting a bunch of scenes from the movies. They're really psyched about it, probably because they plan on taping it and responding to the original video with it. They're all positive they'll become an online sensation, or something."

Sheldon nods. It's unlikely, but not out of the question. "So you need me to help construct them? I'm best at sewing, if that's a factor, but it's been years since I–," he trails off when she giggles. "What?"

"Are you offering to make them with me?" His face warms, but he manages to remain nonchalant. There wasn't anything wrong with knowing how to construct clothing; it was eminently practical. As well as an excellent way of saving hundreds of dollars on Halloween costumes, for most of his life. "That's so sweet. You can if you want, maybe, but I can do that myself. I just have no idea what to look for. I'd bring the drama kids with me, but I was already acting like I knew what I was talking about. You know, to keep them from totally cannibalizing the idea. I want the original trio to have some sway with the group and letting the others be in charge would ruin any chance at that. Besides, they'd all try to convince me spend our entire year's budget on this, if they had a say."

"So, I'd be brought on as what?" He hesitates before adding, "A science consultant?"

"A science-fiction consultant, more like." She grins, tilting her head back some to make it seem like a much grander title than it was. Though, it fills his stomach with warmth regardless of his thoughts on the theatrics. "But, yeah. We need someone who can find the right costumes, make sure the scenes are accurate, all that kind of stuff."

"Hmm."

"Plus, if the kids all work together, I can call this one big glee club event. It's more singing and dancing than theater, anyway. Musical theater, maybe, I don't know. But we need at least fifteen kids to qualify for their regionals and while I doubt that'll even happen, it'd be cool to at least be in the running. Especially since it was just the three, before. They're all so excited…" He watches her hands travel slow across the space between them, taking hold of his forearm for the third time.

For never having spoken a word to the woman for nearly two years, this was a lot of personal space invasion in the span of fifteen minutes. Across the room, he notices Barb is up and pouring herself a cup of decaf hazelnut. Funny, he had forgotten she was even in the room. His thoughts don't feel his own.

"Alright, I'll assist you." She squeezes the skin of his arm and he recoils at her squeak of excitement. "For science fiction's sake," he pauses and considers this. "And because John Williams is, in fact, the man."


End file.
